Doesn't Matter at All
by Shay McSudonim
Summary: Parody-fic for Bonnie Tyler's rendition of "Making Love out of Nothing at all," with bookend prose to help set the scene. Not really sure how I came up with this one...


At first glance, it was a rather typical Karaoke Night for Demon's Blade, the seediest bar in Death City: a slow night in the middle of the week, which had entirely refused to be helped by the inclusion of music. The patrons numbered fewer than twenty, and most of them weren't exactly the kind of clientele a bar wanted to attract.

In one corner, a man (at least, everyone assumed it must be a man, for no one had the nerve to look him in the eye), who was at least eight feet tall sat, stroking a purple cat, seemingly not interested in any of the food or drink offered. He was there with a girl clearly much younger than himself.

If anyone had bothered to ask, they would have learned she was his granddaughter, but no one cared to disturb the two of them. They had most intimidating VOICES, which had already been used once, on an obnoxious red-haired jock, who had come in with a silver-haired beauty several years younger than he was.

Thereafter, the girl, who wore black clothes (in contrast with her light hair), and her redheaded companion, had settled at one of the tables to listen to the performers. The girl seemed, at first glance, to be way out of the guy's league—though you wouldn't have known it from the soft smile on her face. She hardly spoke a word, and these were always to her date. The two of them were largely ignored, except for when the boy decided to give singing an attempt, undeterred by the heckling his off-pitch efforts received.

In the opposite corner sat a man who was somehow managing to drink without removing the goofy skull-mask he was wearing. He was engaged in a drinking-game of some sort with a prematurely gray guy who had a screw driven through his head.

At the bar, a very pale humanoid, who looked altogether too much like a nightmare a five-year old might have had after seeing a clown, was scribbling something down in a black notebook. He drank occasionally, and most people were avoiding him—though a certain robed man with a scar across his face, and a top hat upon his head, flicked the odd paper football at the guy's head, every now and then, trying to get one to stick in the pale man's blue hair.

And seated at one of the tables near the center of the room were two teenagers, one orange-haired and one brunette, both of whom were clearly underage, who had commandeered the free peanuts. The two of them were closed off from the rest of the room in a hushed discussion. No one tried to evict them from the bar, since they weren't drinking, and they certainly fit the criteria for entry, anyway.

Currently, the stage was occupied by a woman with light blue hair, pink eyes, and a voice that was much too high to be attempting 'Don't Fear the Reaper'. Nonetheless, that was what she was doing. At the table nearest to the stage, what appeared to be a drunken toddler cheered her on at what he probably thought was an appropriate volume.

In response, the two sober teenagers threw peanuts first at the stage, then at the purple-robed child who, incidentally, was sucking on a pacifier. Their efforts were met with a smack across the heads with an oar from the Blue Oyster Cult fan, once she'd finished her song.

The next person to take the stage was more than a little androgynous. Though they'd clearly been heard referring to themselves as 'she' throughout the night, their singing voice had more of a masculine feel to it. They were also the drunkest person in the entire bar, which had been decided when the silver-haired man who laughed at everyone had yelled out "Chinese Fire Drill!" and the scarlet-haired, chartreuse-eyed woman had tried to get up, thinking she was in a car, taken a few steps in her ridiculously high stilettos, only to promptly lose her balance and fall over.

She did appear to be a bit more focused now, if not anymore sober, as she pushed her glasses further up the bridge of her nose and selected a song from the list of possibilities.

And, intoxicated or no, it can't be denied that she had a strong voice, and that she sang her heart out.

* * *

(The following parody is set to the tune of "Making Love Out of Nothing At all" as sung by Bonnie Tyler)

Grell:

"I loved a psycho doctor,

and she saw how justice died.

We murdered shadows of the harbor

when they killed their lives inside.

* * *

"Not sure what I was doing,

but the past I could not change.

Well, Red, your death's ensuing of

calamity had quite a range:

* * *

"So, I'd realized my duty,

but for us, it was too late.

I'd walk where my road would lead me,

as a true instrument of fate.

* * *

"Then dear William slashed my paycheck,

kept me working all 'round the clock.

And I swore I'd sever off young

Knox's head right from his neck

when next he said,

'Sempai, are you one to talk?'

* * *

"And I know what demons stand for.

And I've watched them play their games.

I know it's a contract

binding you to be civil,

but I think there's something there, all the same.

* * *

"Though I'll always be a death-god,

and you're one who chose to fall,

on my cinematic record,

what we are

doesn't matter at all.

* * *

"Doesn't matter at all.

Doesn't matter at all.

Doesn't matter at all.

* * *

(What we are)

"Doesn't matter at all.

(What we are)

Doesn't matter at all.

(What we are)

Doesn't matter at all.

* * *

"Every time I see you it's a fight to the death

with hardly a spare second to breathe.

With covenant or without, there's really no way to doubt

your devotion.

* * *

"The kid sure kills a lot,

well I know,

so I guess

these next decades we'll at least stay in touch.

* * *

"We can rendezvous upon a cold April's night,

hack and slash some zombies 'neath the soft silver light.

We are the phoenixes!

And flames within my heart

shine eternally, when I look at you.

* * *

"I could slay a thousand legions,

never shed a single tear.

But I'll never see much farther than the nose on my face,

and I'm completely unfamiliar with fear.

* * *

"I could learn to live without you,

Or I could sink to be the lowest of spawn.

And I could be a Shinigami of which legends are made,

or I could throw down my scythe and be gone.

* * *

"'Cause, one thing to know about me, Sebas-chan,

is I live at no one's beck and call.

* * *

"And as far as I'm concerned with the future:

What will come,

Doesn't matter at all.

* * *

(What will come)

"Doesn't matter at all.

(What will come)

Doesn't matter at all..."

* * *

After departing the stage, to wild applause from the toddler, and moderate applause from everyone else, Grell went back to drinking for awhile. An hour later, she got into a fight with the Undertaker.

Two hours after that, she was hauled out of the bar by a guy who shared her eye color, though this was difficult to notice, seeing as he wore goggles.

"Sempai," said the blond man. "Come on... we've got work in the morning, you know. Why do you do these kinds of things?"

Grell broke into a jagged smile. "Because it's fun, dear Ronald. Why else?"


End file.
